


My sodium amytal brings all the boys to the yard

by Onefootinthegravex2



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drug therapy, Fluff and Crack, Frederick is kind of a loser, M/M, Sort of Non-consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onefootinthegravex2/pseuds/Onefootinthegravex2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this post on Tumbler (http://drwillton.tumblr.com/post/94665934021/willskissograham-replied-to-your-post-my-sodium) and the plot of the movie ‘Overboard’. </p><p>Fredrick is frustrated as his sodium amytal therapy is not going as planned, so he off-handily mentions a scenario in which he and Will are married. Turns out false memory implantation is much easier to achieve than he ever thought possible. Now Will Graham is living in his house, with all his dogs and is calling Fredrick ‘Sweetheart’. </p><p>Saying Hannibal is not amused would be an understatement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My sodium amytal brings all the boys to the yard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jimhoppersbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimhoppersbeard/gifts).



Will Graham had so far been completely uncooperative during therapy. 

He yawns and gives Fredrick the silent treatment during the traditional talking method, Fredrick has banned talking about Hannibal. Turns out Will has nothing else to say apart from enthusing about how Hannibal Lecter is murderous cannibal. 

He ignores the writing materials that Fredrick has graciously allowed him to have during their one attempt at cognitive behavioural therapy. By the end of the session all he has scrawled is ‘Fuck off’ in tiny, almost unreadable letters. Fredrick is forced to use his magnifying glass to puzzle out the words and is not impressed when he finally works it out. 

He refuses to draw anything or write poetry about his feelings, when Fredrick dubiously attempts art therapy. 

He won’t do role-play. 

During group therapy with a couple of other more amenable inmates, Will Graham just watches the others cry or attempt to masturbate, with dull amusement. 

By the end of the first week Fredrick’s blaze of zeal that accompanied finally getting the mysterious Will Graham into his clutches is wearing thin. 

Very very thin. 

Fredrick is reduced to just watching him through the cameras he’s got set up outside the ex-profilers cell. Seething with impotent anger and curiosity. 

Will Graham isn’t the most interesting inmate to spy on by any means. All he does during his first two months at the faculty is pace backwards and forwards around his cell or lie on bed and stare at the ceiling. 

The only time Will is anything resembling interesting is at night. Fredrick has noted that Will barely seems to sleep at all. He seems almost afraid to go to sleep even, pacing his cell even after lights out, for hours. Until tiredness or boredom finally wins and lies down on his cot. 

He never sleeps for more than three hours without waking up suddenly, screaming and drenched in sweat. 

He usually spends the rest of the night with his head in his hands. 

He refuses to talk about his dreams during therapy as well. 

So when Will Graham finally signs the waver that issues his consent for chemical therapy, Dr. Fredrick Chilton feels like he’s a kid waking up on Christmas morning. 

He cancels all his other sessions for that day and books Will in for a Sodium amytal treatment that very evening. 

\----

Most of the staff have gone home by the time Will Graham is wheeled into the chemical therapy room. Only a handful of orderly staff remain on sight at night, Fredrick had laid off a few to pump more of the budget into security after his ‘incident’ with Gideon. 

He still doesn’t feel safe even now. Even with all the fancy new electronic locks and key codes he’s got rigged up in his own home, he doesn’t feel safe. Let alone in a faulty full of psychopaths. 

Will Graham is carefully hooked up to an IV drip, he’s bound from head to toe with sturdy leather straps. There’s no way even the most ingenious criminal could work themselves out of them. 

Fredrick’s not taking any chances through, he’s got two security guards on standby, just outside the door. 

There’s a panic button rigged under the table, just in case. 

Will Graham’s mind will soon open up and reveal its secrets, and Fredrick was going to be the first person to delve into them.

He’s already planned out what he’s going to name the research paper and has a tentative title lined for the book that will follow. He’s spend the afternoon imagining the book tours and signing, the swathes of adoring psychology students lining up for his signature. All the old colleagues and medical school fellows who had scoffed at him, suddenly trying to get back into contact. All the lunches and society dinners he’d be invited too, so many that he couldn’t go to all of them. Hannibal Lecter patting him on the back and telling him how privileged he was to be Fredrick’s friend, and that he’d love to organize a dinner to celebrate Fredrick’s latest award. 

Fredrick had basked in his fantasies all afternoon. He’d even indulged himself by booking a table at his favourite restaurant tomorrow night as a well-deserved treat. 

Life was soon going to start looking up and he was finally going to get the respect and credit he deserved. 

All that remained was to reach into Will Graham’s fragile mind and prise open his psyche. 

Will has already succumbed to the deep, sleep-like state, commonly induced by the drug. His eyes are flickering dully around the room. Fredrick knows from experience that he has to act quickly before Will goes into a deeper sleep and becomes completely inaccessible. The tentative line between consciousness and unconsciousness, reality and dreams, that is where the mind is most bountiful in its harvest. 

Fredrick turns on the small projector he’s got set up in the room, that will issue a varied set of lights throughout the session. These will serve as trigger points during subsequent sessions and hopefully Will can come to associate them with different emotional states. 

‘Tell me about you’re condition, how does it make you feel Will?’, Fredrick begins, he had hardly hide the excitement in his own voice. 

‘My condition?’, Will responds, his words are thick and slurred, almost as if he is drunk. 

‘Your empathy’, Fredrick prompts.

‘What do you think it feels like idiot, you feel other peoples emotions, it does what it says on the tin’, Will snaps back, his voice is dripping with contempt. 

Fredrick leans back in his chair frowning, it looked like he was going to have delve through several layers of Will’s loathing before him could find anything useable.

Well they had at least an hour. Surely Will’s hatred of him couldn’t run too deep. Fredrick had treated him quite well, all things considered. Will had even been given one of the cells with semi-reliable pluming. 

Fredrick flicks through his list of questions and settles on one of the more generic ones. 

‘Tell me about your father Will’, he asks, confident that soon he could break through Will Graham’s reserves. After all he was Dr. Fredrick Chilton.

\---

Forty minutes later Fredrick feels like tearing his own hair out his scalp, which would be a tragedy as he’d spent a good hour styling it this morning.

Will Graham is the most frustrating patient he’s ever had. 

When Will doesn’t reply with a swearword, he just turned Fredrick’s questions back on themselves. Mocking the psychiatrist with imitations of his own words. 

Fredrick has a gleaned a grand total of nothing from the conversation, apart from facts he already knew from Will’s scant case file. 

Will was becoming less and less able to speak back to Fredrick, the drugs were taking their toll on his system. Soon he’d be completely unreachable for at least the next 24 hours, while they wormed their way out of him. 

After being told to go jump off the roof for the fourteenth time, Fredrick threw the clipboard onto the table with unrestrained disgust. 

This wasn’t going anywhere. 

Fredrick took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. This just the first attempt. Will might the spend the rest of his life caged in his hospital. Fredrick had ample time to play with his mind. 

He glanced over the restrained man before him. Will’s fists were clenched and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Fredrick continued help but admire the strength of Will’s arms, he could faintly see the muscles clenching underneath the thin fabric of his prison overalls. 

It was a shame really that such a handsome man was going to spend the rest of his life in prison, even if he was a deranged killer, Fredrick mused to himself. 

He’d noticed Will Graham’s attractiveness from that first ill fated meeting in his office. He’d thought over asking the profiler out to dinner, but had restrained himself. He hadn’t wanted to be shot down, like he had been so many times before, especially in front of Jack Crawford. 

Fredrick had to admit he’d thought about Will Graham after that. Several late night fantasies had starred the scruffy profiler. At first it was typical wet dream fodder, then it had morphed into more domestic scenes, like Will Graham cuddling Fredrick while they watched a movie. Will reaching out for his hand across the table over dinner. Will chopping onions in his kitchen when he got home from work. 

Fredrick Chilton had attempted to rebuff these scenes at first, firstly because he could see that they were quite pathetic and secondly because they could never ever become a reality. 

The thought that someone, anyone, would be waiting for Fredrick when he got home from work, had long since been consigned to fantasy. 

A couple of frankly disastrous dates and one very uncomfortable one night stand, that was all he’d had in the romantic department. 

For the last ten years. 

Fredrick knew he was a social outcast, he’d reached a kind of jaded acceptance of it. He’d never been able to relate to his other peers, always having been the teachers pet, the know-it-all, the show-off. The constant need to seem cleverer than everyone else had defined his own self worth for as long as he could remember. The mistaken belief that one day if he just got good enough, was just clever enough, people would accept him. 

But of course, the more he posed and sucked up, the less people actually liked him and the more his self-worth crumbled. 

It was a vicious cycle, that had gotten him a high-paying job, a massive house empty house and nothing else. 

Fredrick Chilton, hated himself more than little. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. 

He doesn’t entirely know what makes him say it, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

‘If I’d have asked you out, would you have said yes?’. 

Will doesn’t respond immediately and when he does his voice lacks a little of its former malice. 

‘No, I didn’t get a great first impression of you, you seemed like a bit of a dick’ 

Fredrick is not surprised by this answer, he’s well aware that when he gets nervous, he can be a dick. 

‘Do you find me attractive?’, he asks, he might as well, by this point the drugs have sunken into Will’s mind so deeply, that there’s no way he could truly influence the ex-profilers clouded mind. 

‘Kind of, you’re an alright looking guy’, Will replies. 

Fredrick’s heart does a little somersault. He’s feels like a teen that’s been complimented by his crush. 

‘Have you ever fantasized about me Will?’, he asks, leaning forward. He’s already hard, just from the brief thought of Will touching himself. 

‘Yeah, there’s not much to do in my cell’, Will murmurs thickly.

Fredrick’s eyes widen, he glances around the room out of force of habit. The only one who’ll watch the recording of this session is him. 

He considers leading Will on, getting him to pore out all his sexual desires. No one would ever know. He could delete the tapes afterwards, or he could keep them in his own private collection and listen to them for his own personal enjoyment. 

What stops him however is Will’s face. He’s eyes are half open and he looks as if he’s between wakefulness and slumber. With his tousled hair and pale skin, he looks almost boyish. Fragile. 

Even Fredrick Chilton isn’t that much of a bastard that he’d manipulate a man to spill his sexual fantasies during drug therapy. It would be a kind of mental rape. 

Fredrick feels suddenly quite disgusted with himself, with his own sexual arousal in this situation. 

‘Will, sometimes I’d think about what it would be like if we were together’, he says quietly, not looking at Will even. He feels somehow like he needs to apologize to the man before him, to make amends.  
‘I wouldn’t just be about sex not by any means, we’d just be together, like a married couple even’, Fredrick continues, smiling bitterly at his own words, ‘You’d cook in my kitchen, bake even, we’d curl up on my couch after I got home from work and watch movies’, Fredrick pauses and looks up at Will. The other man is completely comatose now, he can’t possibly be absorbing anything that Fredrick is saying. 

So he sits there and talks to Will. Tells him all little things he’s imagined, the pillow talk, the meals they’d cook together, how he’d imagine he’d have proposed to his dream partner, the long walks, the holidays in Europe, the dinner parties they’d give, the Christmases they’d spend with his sisters family, how Will would cook Fredrick’s favourite chocolate cake whenever he was feeling blue, how Will would have sat beside his hospital bed after Gideon’s attack, all night. 

‘And you always loved me in my fantasies, you really loved me’, finishes Fredrick. The room seems suddenly colder and more empty. 

Fredrick Chilton clicks off the light machine and sits in the dark for a long time, before he calls the orderlies in to take Will back to his cell. 

His thoughts are black.

\-----

A week later Fredrick Chilton was sat in his office, chewing on his obscenely expensive pen, feeling jaded. 

As it turned out, like mostly everything in Fredrick Chilton’s life so far, just as he thought he’d gotten close to something he craved it was snatched away from him. 

Will Graham was being released today and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. 

He hadn’t been able to repeat the drug therapy again, so it looked like that one aborted attempt would be the only one he’d ever get. 

He’d had his chance at solving the enigma and he’d failed. 

Fredrick Chilton forced himself to get up. He had to down and oversee Will’s release, whether he liked it or not. 

\----

Will Graham’s last week at the faulty had been surprisingly uneventful. He’d been much quieter and seemed less abrasive towards Fredrick. 

When Fredrick spied the other man waiting at the exit, he almost thought he saw Will send him a quick smile or perhaps it had been a trick of the light. 

‘Well Mr. Graham, it seems we must say our farewells’, Fredrick muttered, trying not to sound too morose. 

‘Not forever I hope’, Will replied, with something like a gentle humor in his voice. His reply sounded almost like it was part of some sort of secret joke. 

Fredrick just assumed Will Graham was mocking him one last time, adding a little more insult to injury. So he didn’t even bother to respond, instead he just motioned the orderly standing by the door to open it.

Will gave him one last smile and walked out into the sunlight, where Alana Bloom was waiting to pick him up.

Fredrick Chilton watched his last chance at critical acclaim walk out of his life with dry eyes, then returned to his office to finish his paperwork.

\----

He decided to stay late that evening, there was no one waiting for him at home anyway. 

Fredrick sat in his office until he’d ploughed through all his backlog and didn’t have any more excuse to stay other just not wanting to leave. 

The drive home was uneventful, he picked up a couple of vegan microwave meals from whole foods and dully wondered what show he’d stream on netflix. The prospect of another evening to himself, too many glasses of wine and cardboard flavored meat substitutes were less than thrilling to him right now to say the least.

When he pulled his car into his driveway, he cursed to himself at leaving the lights on in his house this morning. 

The house was all lit up, light blazing out the giant windows that made up most of the outside wall. 

Fredrick climbed out of his car, picking up his grocery bag from the passengers seat. That was when he noticed the dog on his front porch. 

It looked like a golden retriever cross and Fredrick had never seen it before in his life.

Fredrick had never been overly fond of dogs, after having spent one summer being continuously chased up a tree by his uncles rather vicious pit-bull. To his knowledge there was only one dog in the whole of his exclusive, private neighbourhood. A pampered Pekingese owned by a doting old lady, who was never allowed outside the house. 

This mongrel was a long way from home. 

He attempted to shoo it away from the door, but it just sat there, wagging its tail like it had lived here all its life. 

Fredrick sighed and went to let himself into his house via his expensive new key coded lock, he could call environmental control in the morning. The dog might be gone by then anyway. 

Fredrick had been having trouble with the new security system ever since he’d installed it, it was state of the art and completely unfathomable. But Fredrick refused to lower himself to call the company to work out how to use the damn thing. For now he’d just left a note under his doormat with the password on it, there was no way after a whole day at the hospital he could be expected to remember a 16 digit code anyway.

To his surprise the door swung open without him even needing to key in the code. 

Things were getting weirder and weirder. 

Fredrick was starting to get worried, his mind was suddenly filled with images of serial killers lurking around his house. 

However what came barreling towards him as soon as he opened the door was not in fact a murderer with a banished weapon, but a pack of dogs. 

An entire pack of dogs, tracking mud and fur all over his white carpet. 

Fredrick cursed, thinking that someone must have paid very elaborate prank on him. 

Then he dropped his shopping bag and outright moaned in horror. His carpet was covered in paw prints, one of his very expensive Chinese vases lay on the floor in pieces and one of the dogs had urinated on his favorite chair.

His white, $5000 dollar, imported Harrods chair. 

‘Dios mio’, he murmured. Reverting to his mother tongue in his sheer mindless disbelief. 

That was the moment that Will Graham chose to walk into the room, wearing the pink apron his sister had jokingly gifted him for Christmas. The other man was grinning from ear to ear and covered in flour. 

‘Sweetheart, I made your favorite dinner to celebrate me coming home!’, Will said, his hands were covered by oven mitts. The comforting smell of chocolate cake wafted through the room.

Fredrick did the most sensible thing he could think of at that moment. 

He fainted.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know whether to turn this into a multiple chapter fic or not. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it :)!


End file.
